This story is set in the 1800s. It is the story of a woman of privilege who forms a relationship with a poor child of Irish immigrants. It is a story of a woman who overcomes grief of the loss of a child. It is a story of a child who sacrifices for family and embraces and falls in love with a new identity.

Chapter 1
“Slow down child, I can’t keep up,” the elderly woman said to a young girl carrying a rose in a small family cemetery.

“Come on, grandma, we’re almost there!” the young girl said as she ran between the headstones.

“Well mom, she’s excited about placing the rose on her great-aunt Emily’s grave,” a younger woman said, walking with her arm linked with the older woman.

“I know Kathryn,” the older woman said. “She just has to realize I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Carrying the rose to great-aunt Emily’s grave on her birthday was a family tradition.

“You were that way, Kathryn, when me and your grandmother used to come with you to put the rose on Emily’s grave.

“I think I always looked forward to the cake we always had after I put the rose on her grave,” Kathryn said. “But Emily loves doing this because she wants to share the rose with the girl she was named after.”

“Well, Emily Windham was a special girl,” the older woman said. “I wouldn’t be here, and neither would you without her.”

“I know,” Kathryn said. “It was because of grandma’s love for her, she adopted you.”

“Yes,” the older woman said. “I never really understood that love until I adopted you.”

“What took you so long?,” the impatient girl said as the two women arrived at the grave.

“You’re grandma’s old, she doesn’t move as fast as you,” Kathryn laughed.

“Can we wish aunt Emily a happy birthday now?” the young girl said.

“Yes we can, sweetie,” the older woman said. “After that, we can get some cake in the parlor.”

The trip to the grave always began with a happy birthday. Little Emily always liked singing to her. It always ended with grandma leaving a small note.

“Thank you for the life you gave me, love your sister, Claire.”

“Okay, who wants some cake?” the older woman asked after the ritual ended.

“I do, I do,” the young girl shouted.

“See there, mom, she’s still a lot like me,” Kathryn told her mother.

“That, she is,” the older woman said.

The young girl helped bring life to the stately Windham manor. It was a well-kept place. It was the envy of high-society people in town. The older woman felt it was her mission in life to keep the manor in good order, worthy of the Windham name.

She also remembered a time when the manor was not so stately, a time when the place was in disrepair.

She couldn’t blame the lady of the manor for allowing the home to run down. That woman, a lady she would come to call mother, was heart broken, dealing with the death of a child.

*****

“You boys slow down,” the red-haired woman said, watching her sons run down the street.

“Charlie O’Hara! You and Robert come back here!” the woman shouted as they were returning home from the market.

Charles John O’Hara was the second of five boys in the O’Hara clan. He was 12, a little more responsible than most boys. He helped his mother struggle to keep her household together.

She sometimes kidded him that he was the “daughter” she never had. But she also knew he was perhaps stronger than any in the family. He also did a good job keeping her brothers in line, especially Robert, who for 10 was somewhat rambunctious.

The woman suddenly saw her two boys stopped at the iron fence that served as the border of the neighborhood with Windham manor.

“What are you two looking at?” the woman asked.

“The graveyard,” Charlie O’Hara said. “Robert believes he saw a ghost. But it was only a woman dressed in black carrying a rose.”

The young woman stopped and looked with her sons.

“Who is she? Why does she look so sad?” Charlie O’Hara asked his mother.

“That is Mary Windham,” his mother answered. “She is the richest woman in town. Why is she so sad? I hear her daughter died of the fever in the winter. She was probably about your age, from the talk that I hear.”

The woman didn’t seem to notice the three spies looking at her through the iron gates.

She placed the rose on the grave and walked back toward the manor.

“Well boys, we’ve got to get home,” the woman told her sons. “Your father will be home from the mill soon. He’ll be wanting supper.”

Home, that wasn’t what Charlie called it. It was more like a crowded apartment.

As for his father, Walter O’Hara, he spent more time at the saloon than he did at work or home.

When he was home, he made life miserable for Charlie’s mother, Meggie. He also picked on Charlie a lot for helping his mother do “women’s work” even though his wife surely needed help around the small few rooms they had.

When they returned, well the place was a mess. Lucas, Charlie’s older brother, was in charge. The two youngest boys had the run of the apartment.

“Get the broom, then come in and help me in the kitchen,” his mother told him.

Charlie went straight to work. He swept up and helped put things away while Lucas just sat in his chair.

“Robert, carry Eli and Samuel into our room,” Charlie said before walking into the kitchen to find his mother sweating over the stove.

She handed him a knife.

“Help me with these carrots and potatoes, would you love?,” she said as they went about preparing the meal.

Just then, his father staggered into the room, with liquor smelling from his breath.

“What meal have you prepared for us tonight, my dear Meggie and little Charlotte?” He said.

“Walter, you’re drunk,” his wife snapped back. “And do not call Charlie Charlotte. You know how that hurts his feelings. And somebody has to help me around here. I don’t have a daughter to help me out.”

*****

How does one escape misery? That was what Charlie thought about his life.

His parents came from the old country to have a chance at a better life. Life in Ireland couldn’t have been any worse than this, he thought, as he walked the family dog.

He was just happy to get away. And walking King George was the only way to do it.

King George was a mutt they found one day. His father didn’t want them to keep it, but his younger brothers kept begging, so his mother relented.

They could barely feed the family, much less a dog. But they kept him anyway.

“Come back here, King George!” Charlie yelled after his dog managed to wrangle out of the rope around his neck.

“I am in big trouble,” he said when the dog ran between the bars and onto the property at Windham manor. The gate leading in was chained shut.

Charlie looked at the bars and figured he could squeeze through. It was a tight fit.

“Now where did that mutt go?” Charlie thought as he looked around.

He looked behind every bush he could find. Still no sign of King George.

Suddenly, he felt a strong hand grab him by the back of his coat.

“Just what do you think you are doing on this property?” than man asked.

Charlie froze. He was frightened.

“I’m….trying to find….my dog,” he stammered.

“Maybe I should take you to the police,” the man said. “They’ll lock you away for trespassing.”

Charlie didn’t know what he feared most, the police, or the beating he would receive from his father for getting in trouble.

“Myron, let loose of the boy!” a woman shouted.

Charlie looked at saw a young woman standing on the porch of the home. It was the same woman he saw dressed in black at the graveyard.

“Bring him to me,” she said.

Charlie shook as the man escorted him to the woman.

“Bring him inside and take him to the parlor,” the woman said sternly.

“I can’t believe she’ll let someone as dirty and ragged as you sit on her furniture,” the man said.

Charlie sat down in one of the chairs in the room and waited for the woman to walk in.

The room was almost as big as his family’s apartment.

“Why are you on my property young man?” the woman asked.

“I came to get my dog,” Charlie said. “He walked between the bars when I was walking him.”

“And how did you get through the gate?” she asked. “They are chained shut.”

“I squeezed through the bars,” the boy said.

“You are pretty skinny,” the woman said. “I take it they don’t feed you very much down at the river.”

Charlie didn’t answer. He didn’t want pity.

“So what is your dog’s name?” the woman asked. “I will have Myron find him.”

“His name is King George,” the boy answered.

“Okay,” the woman said. “Myron, see if you can find King George. And Mirilla, get us some tea.”

Mirilla was the maid. She was amazed that Mrs. Windham had taken such an interest in finding the boy’s dog.

Charlie was amazed the woman asked so many questions about his life.

She knew his parents came from Ireland. She asked about the conditions of the apartments down by the river, whether his parents were making it alright.

She was amazed to find out that he helped his mother with the chores around the house.

“Madame, I’ve found the dog,” Myron said after he returned to the parlor.

“Good,” she said. “Myron will escort us to your home with the dog.”

“You’re coming with me?” the boy asked.

“I need to get out,” she said.

Mirilla was amazed. Mrs. Windham had not left the property since her daughter died.

Charlie and the dog hopped into the carriage as they rode down the road on the way to what best could be called the slums.

Mrs. Windham looked Charlie over. He seemed to be a gentle looking child with black hair.

She smiled.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“I’m 12, Ma’am,” he said.

“You don’t look big enough to be 12,” she said as she noticed his dark eyes and long eye lashes. She knew several woman and girls who wished they had eyes such as his.

“Here we are,” Charlie said as they arrived at the apartments.

His mother was a bit shocked by the company. Fortunately, his father wasn’t there to cause any trouble.

“So seven people live here?,” Mrs. Windham asked.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Charlie’s mother replied.

Mrs. Windham was shocked to see the clothes that the O’Hara children wore. But she didn’t judge.

“Charlie tells me he helps you around the apartment,” she said.

“Yes, Ma’am, he does,” his mother replied.

“Is he very responsible?” Mrs. Windham asked.

“Yes, ma’am he is,” Mrs. O’Hara said.

“I’d like to make a proposal,” Mrs. Windham said.

“If Charlie can cook and clean, he might be a good helper for Mirilla,” she said. “I can also teach him to help me with my garden. I will pay him a good wage, if you’ll let him come each day.”

Charlie and his mother were shocked by the proposal.

“Well, I would hate to lose his help around here,” his mother said. “But we could use the extra money.”

Mrs. Windham offered to pay Charlie more than his father made at the mill.

“But Charlie, it is up to you” his mother said.

Charlie didn’t take long to decide. He enjoyed getting away from the river, even if it meant hard work.

“I’d like to do that, Mom, if it won’t be too hard on you,” Charlie said.

“Well, that settles it,” Mrs. Windham said. “I’ll send Myron to fetch you each morning at 8.”